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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144320">take the lead, and I will follow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mook_aron/pseuds/Mook_aron'>Mook_aron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Dating, Body builder Temari, Coffee, Exotic dancer Neji, F/F, Fluff, Ino is the local busybody, M/M, Modern AU, Past Sakura/Ino, Shikamaru is a useless gay, Useless Lesbians, Useless Sapphics, coffee shop AU, engineer Shikamaru, ino has issues, shikamaru has no emotional intelligence, temari is a barista, therapist Ino</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:35:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mook_aron/pseuds/Mook_aron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s not even halfway through the crowded seating area outside the cafe when she spies a familiar ponytail and groans under her breath. Of course he’s here— and checking out the undeniably attractive barista, which Ino has to doubletake because grunge has never been a thing for her but fuck her sideways, the copper-toned honey behind the machine makes it work really, really well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hyuuga Neji/Nara Shikamaru, Temari/Yamanaka Ino, past Sakura/Ino - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>take the lead, and I will follow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes, I know I should be updating other things.</p><p>But when the sapphic fix bug bites, you gotta write.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ino had never noticed the bustling cafe before, even tucked into the small side street as it was and something was very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>miss</span>
  </em>
  <span> things like this. It was her mission in life to keep herself up-to-date on all the public </span>
  <em>
    <span>(and the not-so-public)</span>
  </em>
  <span> details of everything that went on in her sphere of influence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(and so what if her ‘sphere of influence’ included an entire neighbourhood? Shika could go suck it for all she cared)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(ahem)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Point being- Ino had somehow missed an entire cafe in her favourite street- right next door to where she bought her coffee beans for </span>
  <em>
    <span>christ’s sake</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Cafes didn’t just crop up overnight after all, and she must’ve been halfway to blind if she’d missed the entire set up process.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are people everywhere around the new cafe— the sign is clearly hand-painted and even Ino, annoyed at this sudden change in this street she considers her </span>
  <em>
    <span>territory</span>
  </em>
  <span>, can (begrudgingly) admit it’s well done.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Domestic Heroin</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The title is hardly a good indication of quality coffee- but the volume of hot drinks being sold is a definite one. Ino taps manicured nails against the side of her iced latte, the cool condensation slipping from the plastic onto her fingers and she wipes the moisture, almost without thinking, on the edge of her jacket and grimaces. It’s a habit— a bad one, but she hasn’t ever been able to kick it completely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her dad used to say it was a side effect of being perfect. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect people need flaws, Ino-chan.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But perfect people didn’t need flaws. It was oxymoronic at worst, and a foolish juxtaposition at best— and her mother hadn’t raised a fool, nor her father a quitter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So that was what Ino portrayed— </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfection.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well-maintained skin, stylish but not-overdone makeup and hair sleek, pooling like spun platinum thread. Impeccable fashion taste, up to date as always.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino chased perfection like Kiba chased pretty skirts, with that faint edge of ugly desperation and that has to be hidden as well. Ino doesn’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperate.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kiba’s a mutt who sniffs at every scent— Ino hasn’t been able to afford tarnishing her image like that in a very long time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like the back of the school sport courts, kissing soft lips framed by pastel pink and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting </span>
  </em>
  <span>something she could never be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s been a long time since clumsy kisses and hesitant hands, and even longer since the spark of </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>. People don’t really like perfect. Ino sees it firsthand, in the mirror each morning and the flurry of hate is so far from perfect she has to bury it before she can see it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes herself, like a dog flicks water from its coat and Ino wrinkles her nose at the analogy— she might consider herself top bitch but she doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> want Kiba to find out— he’d give her hell for the next forty years if he found out she’d acknowledged the title. In between his pitiful attempts at flirting— </span>
  <em>
    <span>and he’d found her half naked in a storeroom with Hinata’s head between her legs for god's sake how dumb was he— </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kiba had decided she was head-bitch at their high school and ‘top bitch’ had been such a deliciously vicious title.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(so what if she’d scrawled in the margins of her diary and never forgotten it)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can’t see the barista from here— or rather, she can only see two tufts of spiky honey-blonde hair from behind the coffee machine at this distance and that just won’t do for Ino’s voracious curiousity today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leaves the iced latte on the bench </span>
  <em>
    <span>(it was bitter and the barista had burnt the coffee, sue her for littering)</span>
  </em>
  <span> and adjusts herself before she approaches. She grins at acquaintances, tips her head to those who recognise her and who doesn't in this section of town— you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> notice Yamanaka Ino after four solid years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> (she’s sort of like ivy, breaking down the cement of old college brick monstrosities, beautiful and vicious and you never knew if it would sting)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s not even halfway through the crowded seating area outside the cafe when she spies a familiar ponytail and groans under her breath. Of course he’s here— and checking out the undeniably attractive barista, which Ino has to doubletake because grunge has never been a thing for her but fuck her sideways, the copper-toned honey behind the machine makes it work really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really well.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slides into the empty seat across from the brunet, arching a haughty brow and grinning. “You better not be making a move on my future girlfriend, pineapple-head.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The brunet doesn’t glance away from the barista and Ino rolls her eyes. “She’s not into dudes, oh darling best friend. See those hands, nails cut short and no rings? That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>kinda gal— besides, you’re gay. Why are you checking out the hot blonde— well, the hot blonde that </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shikamaru shushes her with a small movement and points out the other barista and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that Neji— like, ‘cute-butt-Hinata’s-cousin’ Neji?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brunet smiles that little smirk he gets when he’s right and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>smug</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it. Ino’s just glad that </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> particular crush hadn’t dried out over the years since high school. Shika is always cuter when he’s pining and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ravishing </span>
  </em>
  <span> when he’s stalking.       </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it’s Neji, Hinata told me he’d moved to the area— moved </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Shika’s smirk is borderline </span>
  <em>
    <span>predatory</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Ino returns it. She’s always loved this vicious, possessive streak in the otherwise lazy man, a streak everyone seemed blind to— but she’d seen it in the playground as toddlers and she’d fostered it ever since.        </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, now that I know you’re not making </span>
  <em>
    <span>hetero-moves</span>
  </em>
  <span> on my future girlfriend, I can sleep easy yeah?” She stands up from the table with a small flourish and grins down at her friend, who hasn’t looked away once from the cashiers bench and the grin turns wolfish. “Your look is saying you want to eat that poor boy alive— just ask him out already and leave enough for the matchbox funeral, mkay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The answering look she gets from dark eyes is full of intent and she sends a quick prayer up to the gods for Neji’s soul.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino isn’t really sure what do— she rarely, if ever, instigates these encounters and usually lets the poor fools who try to woo her make the first moves. She’s nowhere near drunk enough to have enough easy confidence to approach the barista— but she does it anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fake it till you make it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leans across the counter, places her weight on her elbows with a smirk. She knows how this works— she watches it every day, watches the subtle game of cat and mouse, and she knows how to curl her lips just like a predator.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s watched it work time after time, knows it will work again and after </span>
  <em>
    <span>purring</span>
  </em>
  <span> out an order to the bombshell of a barista—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and good fucking lord she’s built. Ino’s never been one for muscles but the strength she can see corded below bronzed skin is her new obsession and she wants to see if her skin is as soft as it looks—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gets a single word into her carefully planned spiel, when the barista eyes her from head to waist and back again— grins with a wolfish slant to thin lips and </span>
  <em>
    <span>flaps a hand at her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blonde shoos her like a stray cur and Ino rocks back on her heels, a little taken aback at the dismissal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those seafoam eyes are dark with something as bronzed fingers hand her a plastic drink container, the barest flicker of skin contact and Ino knows the flicker of interest in those eyes, recognises the slant of desire that hints at </span>
  <em>
    <span>wantdesireheat</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s a curl of challenge to that smirk.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino is perfect—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>she has to be and — </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No bronze madonna is going to ruin her streak.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(and she might be slightly ticked off. Nobody likes to be shooed like some mangy cur and she’ll get an apology in some way or another)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>——————</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(there’s a number on the cup)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(it tells her a time the next day)</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>(the amazon grins and hands her the order, fingertips ever so slightly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever so on purpose,</span>
  </em>
  <span> touching hers for just longer than polite)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(and the spell is broken when Ino is once again </span>
  <em>
    <span>shooed)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(she has always loved to chase)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>—————</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shika is sitting in her lounge room when she returns from the coffee shop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sitting is perhaps an over exaggeration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dark haired man is sprawled across her living room floor, arms thrown across his face and his clothes are crumpled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For all that he is lazy, Nara Shikamaru is impeccable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something is wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even flinch as her keys clatter into the ceramic bowl, nor when she swears as she collapses on to the lounge and pulls her boots off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you doing moping in my unit? Is your floor not good enough for it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s no response to the jab and honestly, that leaves her more worried than it should.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not entirely uncommon for him to end up here, to be fair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shikamaru might be a genius, an engineer and renowned architect but the man has no emotional intelligence whatsoever. So, he does what any good businessman does— he outsources.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To her, specifically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s good at her job and Shika knows it. Why go through the normal channels of hiring a therapist when you can just collapse on your best friend’s floor and get even better service? At least, that’s how she assumes Shika’s brain works.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She finished peeling her socks off her feet and curled her lip at how bad they smell. Definitely not perfect.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, do you want to mope or actually tell me what happened so I can do my godforsaken duty as your ordained self conscious and make sure you don’t give yourself a hernia over unprocessed emotions.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This garners a response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shika shifts his arms, just enough for one reddened puffy eye to glare balefully at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cracks her knuckles, inspecting her nails carefully. She likes this set of SNS and she wants to remember what they look like, before she breaks one slapping whoever has made him cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who do I need to find?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shika laughs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not a particularly happy sound.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I kissed Neji.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did he-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shika flops back down onto the mat once again, arms now spread out wide and his eyes are counting the tiles in the ceiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. I ran away.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly the entire situation seems hilarious and Ino relaxes back into the chair, ready to take a nap now that she knows she’s not needed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there’s a hand tugging at her sleeve and she cracks an eyelid open, peering at the hand attached to her shirt. It smells like cigarette smoke and she scrunches her nose up at the stench.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You still want me to sort your emotions out, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brunette on the floor nods once, eyes barely open to meet her gaze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Why did you kiss Neji?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shika glances as Ino stretches, eyes still red. Ino really isn’t a fan of moping Shikamaru, even if he’s moping over something important.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because his hair was pretty and he asked me to tie it up for him and he turned around with a loose piece of hair so of course I tucked it away and he looked cute so...I kissed him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sheer cluelessness of the man in front of her makes Ino want to hit her head repeatedly on the nearest wooden surface. She settles for cradling her head in her hands, massaging her temples for the headache she just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> is coming. Her apartment is trashed and she hadn’t bargained for having to solve Shika’s romantic issues with the energy conserved for finally cleaning up her unit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why did you run away?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark eyes flicker back to hers and Shika is always sad when he looks like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because he didn’t want me back then. Why would that have changed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino winced, memory hurtling back to the disastrous last year of high school and the very public humiliation Neji had put him through after Shika had confessed. Ino hadn’t quite forgiven the long haired dancer for the incident— but Shikamaru was a big boy, and he could poke his fingers into whatever fire he wanted to. She was just always going to be there with the burn cream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino slid gracelessly off her chair and onto the floor next to her childhood friend, angling herself up on her elbows so she can look him straight in the face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shika, so much has changed. Do you remember what happened when Hinata and I got caught in the store room? Do you remember the absolute fit her dad threw in the school office about ‘homosexual demons ruining his family’?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a slow light dawning in Shika’s face and Ino thinks she’s finally getting somewhere with the idiot. “Hisashi hated Neji. Everyone knew he only allowed him to stay because he would’ve lost standing in the community to reject his orphaned nephew. But Hisashi would’ve disowned him in a flash if he had ever looked at a boy, even with innocent intentions. I’m not saying what he did was right but I’m saying he probably had reasons for it.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette laying next to her has been holding his breath the entire time she was talking and she hears it rush out of him in something like a sob. She ignores it, knowing that an emotionally vulnerable Shika is likely to close up as soon as she mentions something like this. Ino just lets him cry against her arm and distracts herself with her phone, scrolling through social media and catching up with the weirdly varied content of her timeline.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she feels the man next to her roll back over onto his back, she sits up against the couch and places her phone on the cushions, folding her hands primly in her lap. There’s a scratch she hadn’t noticed in her previous perusal of her nails and she mentally filed a note to book an appointment. She was going to just fill these in but she wonders if maybe something bold would help her own confidence. With a shake of her head, she returns her mind back to her current dilemma.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shikamaru, he probably didn’t hate you in high school and that boy has been making bedroom eyes at you since the second we left school. He might hate you now for running away though. Have you thought,” she pauses, running through different phrasing before she settles on the best way to say this. “Has it occurred to you that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>you to kiss him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brunette couldn’t have looked more shocked if she had hit him in the face and honestly, Ino wanted to at this point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a point where cluelessness became  obstinate denial and Shika had passed it years ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… you think he wanted me to kiss him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino leant forward across her knees and perched her chin on her palm, blankly staring into his face with the best deadpan she could muster. “He asked you to tie up his hair for him, turned around close to you and didn’t object when you tucked his hair away, and you think he </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t?</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a long moment of silence and then a sheepish reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The afternoon quickly descends into chaos when Ino attempts to smother her friend with a pillow moments later, and then they bask in the contented exhaustion of a victorious pillow fight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Ino is fairly sure the neighbours will complain tomorrow but if she gets her way soon, she’ll be getting noise complaints every night)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>——————</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s woken up to very giddy messages on her Snapchat from Shika, which very quickly spiral into vivid imagery of Neji she isn’t sure she’ll ever get out of her mind. If she could permanently remove herself from that moment, she would but instead she’s left with unwanted details of what is underneath Neji’s stockings.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(She adds $50 dollars to the tequila tab Shikamaru owes and vows to get herself shitfaced when her Amazonian tryst inevitably goes sour)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>————————</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, it doesn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every cup of coffee has different times. Ino slowly pieces together that it’s Temari’s (</span>
  <em>
    <span>her name makes her want to groan, and she can’t wait to hear what it sounds like, throaty and echoing in her bedroom)</span>
  </em>
  <span> work schedule. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And if Ino schedules her clients around those hours, it’s no one else’s business. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She spends her lunch breaks squished on a bench made for two but clearly built by someone who hadn’t ever seen a real human before. Temari steals her tomatoes, Ino pinches her grilled eggplant, it’s a give and take relationship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though Ino isn’t really sure what she has with the other blonde. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino’s track record with relationships goes something like fall really fast, fuck for a few weeks and then realise she isn’t getting what she wants, doesn’t know how to say and inevitably runs away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nobody mentions Sakura to her anymore. She doesn’t want to think about cotton candy between her fingers and petal lips that bloomed like the first sun in april)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t want to think about Sakura anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>—————————</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The train is crowded, passengers bustling through the doors as soon as it stops at each station, then a steady flow of passengers boarding moments later. It only makes Ino more aware of how warm the blonde woman pressed against her is. Despite what she had guessed from Temari’s work uniform, the body under is built and built </span>
  <em>
    <span>well.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino isn’t British but she knows ‘well fit’ would work ever so perfectly if she were to describe it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wants to call this a date. She really does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But sampling coffee at a fancy micro cafe where they serve the shots in test tubes and the sugar syrup in mini beakers is not a date activity so Ino just goes along with the idea as Temari presents it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An elbow nudges her from her thoughts and she glances at Temari, who is motioning to the doors that are opening onto a platform. “This is our stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Ino swears she blacks out for a moment in giddiness, as Temari links their arms by the elbow and with no tact or politeness whatsoever, pushes through the crowd towards the door. It’s a novel experience for Ino, who usually just pretends no one is in front of her and watches crowds part or move away for her without effort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino thinks it says a lot about them as people. Temari is a woman of action, in a physical sense— Ino is in no way unaware of the muscles under her clothes, the way they shift as she lifts crates of milk at the cafe— and it shows in every part of her life. She pushes through crowds and takes up space on seats, spreads her knees unapologetically— Temari is larger than life, and Ino craves it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino has made it a point in her life to be perfect. To be full to an acceptable level, palatable— never pushing the envelope further than needed, never more than was acceptable. Ino is crass and rude at times— she has spent years being enough to interest but never too much to turn off. Ino is perfection and she has never brooked anything less from herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Temari doesn’t seem to give a shit about anything and accepts herself as is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino has never loved herself less than she does now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They make it out of the train station in one piece, despite Ino’s sincere belief that the packed stairways were a death trap at peak hour. They catch their breath at the entrance, giggling with the high of physical exertion and the odd adrenaline associated with fun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you actually told that busker to shove his guitar up his ass!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Temari is laughing but her cheeks are red, spreading up from her neck to her ears and the colour makes Ino want to chase it down to see if it goes further (</span>
  <em>
    <span>she wants to taste what sunlight tastes like on her skin</span>
  </em>
  <span>). “Oh come on, you can’t blame me! He was literally in the middle of the bloody walkway! And he was moving that damn guitar so much I thought he was gonna take your eye out! I should’ve broken the thing!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino laughed, the image vivid in her brain. “I-it certainly would’ve helped him get it u-up there-“ The sentence cuts off as Ino dissolves into hysterics, holding onto the chain link fence and doubled over— it’s not long until Temari follows suit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes them a good ten minutes before they compose themselves enough to actually walk along the street.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>the goddess at her side sirloin hasn't let go of her arm and the touch burns, like the needle of a tattoo gun— enough to sting, more than enough to make you crave more)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Coffee is a blur— at least, the actual events. They order coffee, they sit— Temari’s face is bathed in the golden light of midday and it casts shadows, spills light across the hollows of her cheekbones like water down rock. She is like rock— she is rough and tempered and so inherently natural that she seems so ethereally out of place in the city.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Ino is in love and if she wants this, she knows she will never get it)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>so she forgets it)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(she lies to herself, catches the movement of Temari’s hands through the air, the way her words trace out stories and her gestures make them full)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She feels like a moon, orbiting a planet— so strong is the pull to this woman, inescapable and it tightens like iron around her chest when she pulls away, breath coming thin as though her lungs are constricted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps she is Mercury, slipping closer to the sun with every rotation— silver grey that floats into the mind, the smell of burning wood as it eats through the veneers she has built for herself.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(the light catches all she tries to hide and when Temari wipes foam from her lips, she does not chase those fingers, the shade of toffee)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(she cannot have more than this)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(the cafe smells like burnt sugar and cotton candy)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>—————————</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Ino is finding she wants more)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she doesn’t want to run. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re thinking too much, air head.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Temari was big on nicknames but not particularly big on tact. Ino blinks herself back into focus, licking her dry lips and smiling, a little off kilter at having daydreamed long enough for Temari to call her out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Someone has to think enough for both of us and it sure isn’t you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ino is terrible at flirting.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She usually relies on her looks and body to get what she wants: flirting isn’t really something she has learned to do on purpose. That takes a confidence that she hasn’t figured out how to fake convincingly and the looks Temari shoots when she thinks Ino isn’t looking don’t help the overwhelming desire to kiss her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she defaults to banter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Temari gestures towards her with her coffee cup, shaking the straw as she does so. Ino knows there’s a bitter monstrosity of energy packets, energy drinks and 4 shots of espresso in the iced cup and feels her stomach roil at the thought of it. The other woman drinks the concoction like it’s ambrosia and Ino truly, earnestly worries about the state of her heart. “You need to meet my brothers you know! I’ve been telling them about you but ‘Kuro doesn’t think a ‘goddess’ would stoop to being my girlfriend, so I have to prove it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino’s face freezes and thinks her heart has leapt through her throat, coughing around the mouthful she inhaled and wheezes as Temari hits her back in concern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>She belatedly realises that the strength of those hands makes her ache for something she doesn’t have a name for but it is most decidedly kinky)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(it’s spanking but Ino has to deny it in her head out of sheer principle)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“G-girlfriend?!” She splutters, still coughing and she feels lightheaded. Ino isn’t sure if it’s because of the lack of air or the giddy excitement that has started to build in her stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Temari’s face is pale, and Ino can instantly see the miscommunication. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, not like that. I just….”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tan woman next to her is sighing, sinking back against the bench. “Let me guess, you’re not into girls? Or you’re repressed and only think I’m pitying you? Or you just assumed I was down to f-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino really isn’t sure what makes her do it. Maybe it’s the steady stream of words that she knows are going to keep pouring out of Temari’s mouth but she promptly slaps a hand over it. Face to face like this, Ino hadn’t anticipated how intimate it had become so suddenly. She can count every freckle on tan skin, see the flecks of gold thread in river-teal eyes so very clearly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will you shut up for one god damned moment?” Ino huffs, ignoring the wide eyes following the movement of her lips and the hot breath against her palm. Or at least, she tries to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-“ she squeals in shock as the other woman licks her palm and yanks it away, wiping it on her jeans with a grimace. “As I was going to say, I just… hadn’t realised we were dating?” She lilts the last word high, unsure of whether she’s really assessed the situation correctly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shikamaru is never going to live this down when he finds out and Ino knows that he will. She’s the prettiest and wittiest in town, and the gossip is insidious. She’s apparently had a girlfriend for a month or so, and had— like every useless sapphic before her— chalked it up to someone who didn’t return her affections. “I’ve been buying you coffee for a month and you thought I was just being nice?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” is the ever so eloquent answer Temari receives. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The barista is laughing at her and she wants to say her laugh is beautiful, like tinkling wind chimes and bird song. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it’s really not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Temari laughs like everything else she does— as earnestly and bluntly as possible. She snorts and her laugh is rough and loud and she is wheezing ten seconds in but when the trees shift and sun hits her eyes, Ino wants to hear this sound forever. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s never really fallen in love, not since she was a teenager but she thinks she’s okay with this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the laughter dies down, Temari is wiping her eyes and her shoulders shake with the occasional giggle or chuckle as the wave of mirth dies away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ino stands up, wiping the condensation from her cup onto her jeans and holding out a hand to her… well, she supposes this is her girlfriend now. The bronzed woman is looking at her hand, every so slightly confused and the sight is sweet enough to make Ino’s jaw clench like she’s eaten a sweet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go see your family?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When a rough hand slides into hers and she grips it, she smiles and the air feels dizzying with light and sounds that don’t mean anything outside of this moment.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She can definitely get used to this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(and if they kiss in an alleyway on the journey there and end up in her sheets, well— she doesn’t think anyone can fault her)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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